


Ghost Talk

by phantombrew



Category: Cyberpunk & Cyberpunk 2020 (Roleplaying Games), Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantombrew/pseuds/phantombrew
Summary: V goes in to collect a quarry.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Ghost Talk

The building is empty, finally. I crawl in through a vent I opened and hop down to the ground. Bodies litter the room, some of them still clinging to life. They’ll be dead before I leave. My quarry is upstairs in some office overlooking the floor. I have to step over his henchmen’s corpses to make it up the steps. Police’ll be here soon with all the gunshots that went off.  
I open the door to the office. Winstead is lying face down on the ground, bullet hole right through the head. Electronic lights’re still flickering away in his empty skull. Poor bastard didn’t stand a chance when one of his goons snapped. Guy went nuts and gunned everyone down in an instant, even himself. Fucker’s almost unidentifiable in the aftermath. His gun’s nice though. I pick it up, twirl the loader, toss it around. Heavy, probably a .44 or something stupid big like that. It’ll sell good anyway. Job said something about a shard on Winstead’s body that I needed to grab to prove I killed him, should probably get that and ditch before the heat gets in.  
A door opens downstairs, footsteps echo up too. Somebody’s here already. They’re walking slowly so I have time before they make it up here. Winstead’s heavy but I flip the bastard over with some effort. His pockets are filled with garbage – a lighter, some cigars, a pocketknife – the works. The chip is at the bottom of his inner pocket, fucker didn’t’ want it taken for sure. I pull it out and lodge it into the slot in my neck, scanning the data. Seems to be some business shit, shit I’m not paid enough to care about. Whatever, job done.  
I shift over to the desk overlooking the ground floor. There’s a pig checking all the bodies for pulses, mulling over pools of blood like they’re going to find out what happened here. They won’t even know I was here. I grab a wad of bills sitting on the table, pocket em for later. Dead men don’t need cash. Winstead’s half-missing face is starting to give me the creeps. I step over his body and head for the door. His hand grabs my ankle.  
“THE BITCH IS IN HERE, GET HER!” the corpse shouts. What the fuck? I kick but he grabs harder. His hand is stuck on my foot. Footsteps are coming up the stairs. Shouts from the police. I kick him in the head as hard as I can, brains splattering everywhere. Something makes a popping sound and he goes limp. The cop starts banging on the door, yelling to open up. I need to get outta here.  
I could smash through the windows but it’s a good ten foot drop, plus the cops could track me easy. There aren’t any vents big enough for a person to fit in. The banging is getting louder, they’re trying to smash the door down. There’s no time.   
I wait by the door and time out the bangs. They’re doing it rhythmically, one every three seconds or so. I start counting… one, two, three, bang, one, two, three, bang, one, two, three. I yank the door open and the cop flies into the room, landing on top of Winstead’s body. Her gun slides across floor and under the desk. She immediately tries to scrabble over the corpse towards it, getting blood all over her uniform.  
“Stop.”  
She freezes and turns around. I slide my katana underneath her chin.  
“You’re done here. Tell your friends it’s empty.”  
A tear rolls down her cheek. I tap the radio module on her neck.  
“Now.”  
She sobs, takes a deep breath, “Reporting in, nobody’s here. Probably some punks with their dad’s gun, over and out.” Radio chatter comes back, inaudible. The cop nods quietly and taps the node. I stand up and sheath my blade.  
“Don’t stick around.” I exit and close the door, leaving them with the bodies. My job here is done.

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more of these as more happen to me. This was based on a glitch that happened while I was doing a gig actually, something about the body yelling out that I was there stuck with me as something that could have happened normally. Hope you all liked it!


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